


Break Him, Tear Him, All For a Piece of Divinity

by CloudXMK



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse), Resident Evil - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Loss, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Description, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, M/M, Major Character Injury, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Violence, Past Child Abuse, Past Torture, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Rescue, Tears, Torture, Trauma, Violence, Whump
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24318493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudXMK/pseuds/CloudXMK
Summary: Shadows dug into his chest, slipping past his ribs and burying ever deeper to reach the center of his being as he screams endlessly until he could no longer scream.Calling out for the release from his torment as he is torn apart again and again. But the sweet release of Death would never heed his call.After all, this is the price to become a god.
Relationships: Chris Redfield/Albert Wesker
Comments: 8
Kudos: 24





	1. A Fallen God

**Author's Note:**

> Just to warn you guys, this is going to be one of the most intense piece of fiction I've ever written up to this point. This is most definitely not going to be everyone's cup of tea so I advise readers to please take note of the tags. Again, take note of the tags! 
> 
> This is supposedly taking place sometime in between Resident Evil 5-6 taking place a year and a half after the events in Kijuju.

Pain.

Pain. Darkness. A brief flash of light that assaulted his eyes. Manic eyes. The glint off steel. Then more pain. The cycle just repeats.

That was all he knew ever since he woke up.

The virus that once gave him strength was now nearly non-existent, only remnants of it left and Uroboros his creation all but turned to dust. He could barely it stirring through his veins.

Weak.

That’s what he was now.

As he hung there, wrists aching and bleeding as the metal dug into flesh and bone, he could only be reminded of a dark period in his life that he wished to never remember ever again.

A memory of him so young and weak, unable to defend himself as he was tortured endlessly by Spencer.

The painful burns on his body lingered still slowly healing at a crawl, ravaging the already sensitive nerves.

How long had he been here? Hours? Days? Months? Years? Time seemed to be non-existent here and he had since lost track of it. 

All he knew was the one with the manic eyes.

Such manic eyes that terrify even him.

A supposed god.

The loud bang of a steel door and footsteps that echoed throughout this chamber he was in only sets his heart racing with fear.

Pain from his bleeding wrists as the chains holding him were pulled even tighter over his head until he felt like his arms would pop out of their sockets and he would cry out weakly. Pain running up his arms and registering into his brain as the metal dug into flesh and bone, spilling fresh new blood and painting the metal red once more. 

Every single time, his tormentor would begin.

Fire would race through his chest as his chest was once again pried open with a scalpel and he would scream into the void as cold hands would slip into the cavity, taking their time to explore every crook and cranny. 

Other times, it would be a knife.

And always the pain rips through him. No matter how many times it has occurred, the pain always takes the air out of his lungs, always leaves him in shock, and always leaves him twisting in his chains as he screams.

The stench of iron fills his sensitive nostrils and his eardrums would be shattered by his own roars and screams of agony that bounced easily off the walls.

He had refused to plead for mercy. He was more than a pitiful human. He was a god.

But even a god can fall.

“There it is.” His tormentor would say every. Single. Time.

Cracking of bones echoed throughout the chamber as the shrouded figure broke his ribs, tossing them aside carelessly to the ground without a care in the world.

He could hear it.

The rapid pounding of his heart booming in his sensitive ears.

And then pain. Such horrid pain that it nearly made him bite his tongue off. Choking, he was choking. He couldn’t breathe.

Eyes wide, he watches as the blood-coated arm pulls out and there he sees it once again. 

“Such vitality. Such is the heart of a god.” The one with manic eyes whispered reverently.

“I wonder… will it still beat with such power if I cut into it?”

_No. NO NO NO! Leave! Don’t touch me again!_ He weakly protests but it was like the figure never heard him.

Cruel laughs fill his ears and those crazed eyes looked at him with a sickening smile.

“And not let me worship of your divinity? I beg to differ.”

Pain unimaginable to the human mind hits him and he roars in agony like a dying god.

Choking and finding himself unable to breathe as the red life-giving fluid gushes forth out of him like a geyser with each slice.

Feeling every single digit of those freezing fingers shoving into the chambers of the red organ. Shivering as he felt the same digits caress the heart strings. And all he could do was witness it as the figure violated him.

Memories from a past long ago returned with a vengeance, tormenting him even more, making him slowly lose himself in this whirlwind of despair.

Unexpected horrendous pain ripped through him and he found he could no longer breathe. Looking down he sees the organ that belonged inside his chest now in the red-painted hand.

It was wrong.

It was just utterly wrong to see it beating not inside him but in the hand of his tormentor.

Seeing the figure eye it hungrily with a wide grin on his face, watched as he slipped his fingers into his now wretched heart and laughing all while he was doing so.

A loud snap echoed in the distance.

Nothing.

Blank.

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**LOST.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is another POV but not from Wesker. Can you guess whose POV it is?
> 
> This will help elaborate what is going on regarding in Chapter 1 a bit more. 
> 
> Hope this chapter helps clear things up a bit.

It all started when a dear friend introduced him to the dark, shadowy world that governments would deny such existence of. A world in which the public never knew of its existence and continuously living a life of ignorance of it. 

If only they knew what was hidden from them.

At first, he had been terrified. He was just a businessman nothing more whose life before revolved around his company and nothing else. It was thanks to his main focus on his company that the company was able to produce powerful weapons unlike anyone had ever seen before.

Many sought to buy them and it made his company skyrocket in fame throughout the globe. And as it did, his life was propelled into the spotlight.

He became a celebrity overnight and he couldn’t help but revel in the glamor and attention that he had never had before. 

But such attention being cast upon him was bound to attract the underworld. 

Like sharks that scented blood in the water, they came offering lucrative offers greater than his own sponsors ever would.

Enticed by such offers, he accepted them all. From illegal weapon traffickers to underworld criminal families. But all of them would pale in comparison to the shadowy world his friend would introduce him to.

It was like a plot taken from a heavy science fiction movie. Living dead and monsters born from the wicked minds of men who dared to play god all driven by their need to destroy all humankind. Such grotesque beings that would haunt him whenever he closed his eyes.

Yet, those greater creatures, the ones they call B.O.W.s, radiated such mystery and power. Such an infallible power that made him think nothing could stop them.

And he wanted to conquer that power. To take it, shape it and bend it to his will.

So he purchased one. A simple undead that was always kept under lock and key below his home and fitted with an electric collar around its neck.

Every night, he watches it twitch and inch ever closer towards him, slamming against the bars of its prison as it howled and grunted for his flesh. One time, it started to make too much of a ruckus that he could hear it from all the way up in his home.

Enraged of the disturbance of his quiet solace, he marches down into the bowels. With the press of a button, he watches as it howls and screeches in pain as the electricity from the collar runs through it frying its brain.

He watches it fall to the ground, twitching and finally stilling as its undead life left it.

Never had he felt as powerful as he did. With just the press of his thumb, he could bring down such powerful creatures. He craved for the high it gave him.

So he bought more. Getting bolder with each purchase, from simple undead to larger and more powerful B.O.W.s. He didn’t care for the price, he had the money to buy more of his new pets.

Such wonderful exotic pets they made.

But as the bodies piled up, so did the greater need to discard them. He could only burn so much and dumping them into the ocean would lead to the discovery of their presence. He didn't need the B.S.A.A. getting onto him for this. 

Then he heard rumors of a rising prospect in organ trafficking in the black market. But not just any common organ harvest.

Harvests of B.O.W. organs.

It seemed that rising bio-terrorist organizations wanted them and would pay great numbers for them. Other times, powerful criminal lords demanded for them and would offer lucrative sums of money. Whatever the reasons his clients had for them, he could care less. The money was what he wanted and in return he would get a hefty sum. It was a win-win situation for him.

So he started harvesting their corpses after he rids of them, selling them to the highest bidder and then replacing his pets with more B.O.W.s until he gets bored of them again. 

But over time, his view of them as these exotic pets slowly changed.

The Tyrants. Such towering monstrous beasts. Yet the pinnacle of strength that only humans could ever dream of. He feeds them his enemies, those who dared to cross him, and watches them rend and tear them apart without mercy like cruel gods unheeding of their mortal subjects. Unlike the cowardly human leaders whom would rather turn tail and run instead of asserting their powers over the common folk.

A waste of power unfitting for mortal men.

Unlike these creatures born from the hands of men yet spite their creators by ending them with their merciless rage.

They were the ones fitting to rule the world. They were the gods of old that had been resurrected by the arrogance of mankind, to cast their vengeance on humanity and he their humble servant only living to serve them.

He swears he could hear them talk to him and only him. As the drugs flooded his system, he could hear the whispers turn to loud, coherent commands ordering him to bring more mortal men to satiate their appetites and blood-lust.

And he obeyed them without question.

But then he heard of the one true god. A god that was unlike the rest.

Appearing as a human man yet having the sharpest intellect than any other human he had ever encountered. Add in the strength of a Tyrant that he held beneath that facade.

It believed that it was a god unlike the others. 

Was it right or were they just pretty sweet lies? So he took it into his home, letting it reside in the dark bowels below.

He relishes putting it through the many trials he had prepared to test its claim of godhood. Its cries were music to his ears as he spills its blood and watches its flesh knit close before his eyes.

He had gone too far one day and he thought that was it. That it was only but a false god. Until it drew in a breath.

And he then believed in it. It was indeed the one true god among all the beings that had come into his home. A great desire rose within him with each slash, each cut, each stab and each pierce.

A desire to take a piece of divinity and take it as his own.

It is only deserving that he was blessed with its divinity and no one else’s.

After all, he was nothing more but its humble servant.

As he wrenches free the center of its being, he cups its bloody core in his hands marveling the pulsating object.

A piece of divinity that only he is graced with. A piece of divinity that he protected with fervor, never letting the eyes of mankind ever see it.

The world did not deserve it. Mankind did not deserve it.

Only he deserved it.

Just him.


End file.
